The Secrets of Heartbeats
by Looly
Summary: [oneshot] No, she cannot see change as most people do. Warworn faces, bruised bodies, and empty eyes hold no meaning for the blind girl. For her, change is measured according to the heart, and all the secrets it so readily confesses.


Disclaimer: Avatar is most definitely, certainly, and completely not mine.

The Secrets of Heartbeats

by Looly

"The important thing is this: to be able at any moment to sacrifice what we are for what we could become." –Charles Dubois

* * *

No, she cannot see change as most people do. War-worn faces, bruised bodies, and empty eyes hold no meaning for the blind girl. For her, change is measured according to the heart, and all the secrets it so readily confesses.

* * *

"You're different now." 

It is spoken in a wistful tone; sad and disappointed, like an adult who has only just realized that their childhood is long gone. He looks at her and frowns, because he looks the same and feels the same and even_ smells_ the same, and doesn't quite understand what the blind girl means.

"Well, my hair _is_ getting longer… and if I might add, I think I'm getting a little buffer—"

He tugs at his wolf's tail and flexes an arm for emphasis before remembering that she cannot see.

"No. It's your…"

She pauses.

"Nevermind."

As she leaves the puzzled boy behind, she listens for the low, steady, sturdy drumming that she's grown so accustomed to, and finds only the fast and violent thumps of a much-too-young warrior.

* * *

It's rare to see them so at peace with each other. Usually they are bickering or flat-out screaming at each other… or training with each other (which she personally thinks is just another more justified way of expressing their anger). Yet, there they are, sitting side-by-side in peace. Every now and again he murmurs a curse and she laughs in an understanding way, before carefully murmuring new instructions into his ear. Usually he would snap back, but today he simply grunts and follows her lead. 

"Ouch!" she hears him hiss, before letting out a growl and throwing the object in his lap to the ground. "It… it pricked me!"

Much to his chagrin, his companion lets out a howl of laughter before gently plucking the item from the ground. She dusts it off patiently and says, "You've never sewn before. It took me _years_ to get it down right, and you've only just started. So don't get so frustrated over it."

His response is a mumble of annoyance.

"Here, let me see your hand—"

She grasps it without question and, just like that, everything changes.

The comfortable laughter is gone; the torn item of clothing is long forgotten; and suddenly, all pretenses are lost and everything is simply what it is.

It is a girl—not a waterbending peasant—clutching not a Fire Nation prince's tool for destruction, but a boy's hand. She clutches his hand not in combat, but in kindness.

The blind girl finds it funny how their hearts beat with the same passion and fear of two battling warriors, when the scene is anything but.

"Both of you, too," she murmurs aloud, so softly that nobody will hear her.

She leaves the two to their own devices, and decides that _this_ is a change of heart that isn't really so bad.

* * *

"People are confusing." 

She says this as she falls into step with the old firebender, who glances at her curiously before letting out a soft 'aaah' of understanding. She likes him for that. He understands her, no questions asked, and it's useful for a girl like her who's not so into spilling out her heart and soul.

"People tend to change in times like these," he replies.

"_You_ haven't," she notes, a twinge of annoyance in her voice.

He lets out a low, grumbling laugh; the vibrations he sends shaking through the ground are pleasant ones that even _she_ can't help but enjoy, and she nearly finds herself laughing alongside him.

"Oh, I've changed," he says. "In ways that you cannot see, of course…"

She huffs. "Well, obviously. But that's not it, I mean—"

…What did she mean?

"…I don't really know what I mean. I can just tell. It's like..."

She pauses, pondering over what to say.

"It's like their hearts are changing."

Then she decides it sounds stupid, and adds, "I guess you could compare it to someone getting a… I dunno, a haircut, I guess. You can always pick them out by a hairstyle they've had for a long time, right? But then one day, bam! New haircut. So now you have a harder time picking them out, and you get all freaked out whenever you see them because they look different."

"I think I understand what you mean."

"I know it was bound to happen. People change, yadda yadda yadda…" She sighs. "But I wish we could get through all of this without... without turning into complete strangers because of it."

He stops, and she stops, too.

"So…?"

"For the world to change, my young friend, it is _us_ who must change first."

The Dragon of the West places a hand upon her shoulder and squeezes in a fatherly gesture of affection. It is a small, insignificant action, but one that nevertheless fills her with more courage than any proverb ever could.

* * *

"Hey," she says, nudging the airbender in the side with her foot before lazily falling beside him. 

She imagines that he nodded in reply, because a moment too late he answers, "Hey."

And that is how they sit for a while: in silence, just two friends—two_ children_—laying beside one another and listening to the world pass them by. Not quite in peace (they hate sitting still, oh how they hate it, because there is so much that still needs to be done), but rather, at a standstill, unsure of what to do next. There is so much to do, but where to start? So much to say, but how to phrase it?

"…Toph?"

"What?

"Can you stop that?"

The question "Stop what?" is at the tip of her tongue before she realizes that she is staring at him. Not really staring at him, of course, but regarding him.

"I can't really stare at you, Twinkle Toes," she sighs, rolling her eyes, but moving her gaze nevertheless. "Blind, remember?"

"Oh, I know!" he quickly corrects himself. "It's just… when you look at people, it's like you can see right through them."

Surprisingly, it makes sense.

"Huh," is all she says in response.

Silence controls the moment again before—"Well, can you… uh… _see_ anything more than…?"

He is struggling for words to phrase his question. She lets him continue for a few more seconds before butting in.

"I can tell when people lie," she says. "But I can only tell that because I can feel and hear their heartbeats. When someone lies, their heart beats faster than normal…. Everything has its own pace and pitch. When someone's scared, it's loud and jumpy. With anger, it usually sounds like thunder, big and booming and all that."

She pauses to think over what other emotions the heart betrays.

"I can barely hear it when someone's sad." The words 'I never hear yours anymore' twitch at her lips, dying to be spilled out, but she restrains herself. Now isn't the time for that (nor does it feel like it ever will be, with the way things are going).

"Let's see… oh, it's off the charts when you're with people you care about."

The boy beside her gives a soft 'oh' and she thinks she can hear his heart beat just a little bit faster. He doesn't need to say it for her to know that the whole idea is discomforting. Blind though she may be, she still manages to see more of people than anyone would ever be comfortable with. Facial expressions were a good enough defense for others, but the heart could tell no lies, and was more than ready to betray the mind.

"Y'know, you all have your own heartbeats. It's weird, and maybe I've just been traveling with you freaks for too long, but I could pick every single one of you out of a thousand people just by listening for your heartbeat." Her pride is evident in her grin.

"Really? What does mine sound like?"

This requires a moment of careful thought.

Once, his heartbeat had been no louder than the beating of a bird's wings; soft and flighty and bright, in its own weird way. It was gone not a moment after it appeared, constantly surprising her and catching her off guard. In times of chaos and war, it retained an out-of-place innocence and tranquility about it that she envied. It sounded like music, and like freedom. Like the heart of a true airbender.

Personally, his heartbeat had always been her favorite.

Now, however, it was different. All the fear and anger and stress of what was to come had morphed him. Gone were the flighty wings of a bird, replaced by the vengeful drums of a man with the world on his shoulders. No matter what he said, she could hear the truth. The slow, quiet beats of rejection, guilt, and shame; the unsteady jumps of a scared child; the thunder of a boy abandoned by his people and by the world.

She wishes to say all of this to him. Because she's worried—worried that he will collapse from his evident unhappiness. Because even the Avatar can have too much asked of him. Because she cares for him, though she may rarely show it, and cannot bare the thought of losing him (physically, mentally, emotionally) just because of some stupid war.

She wishes to say all of this to him.

But she won't.

"Like happiness, once."

There is nothing more to be said, and so she stands and nudges him in the side again before leaving, ignoring the question that she knows he wants to ask.

* * *

Anyway. I have a weird obsession with never naming characters in my fics. Why? I really don't know, but I do apologize for the bad and possibly annoying habit that I cannot bring myself to break. Some bit of my brain is saying, "IT'S DEEEEEEP NOT TO SAY THEIR NAMES, DUH!" But it really isn't. I'm just weird and personally think it flows best this way. SO: read, review, and remind me that Taang will most likely never become canon and either taunt or comfort me over said fact. 


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